


Sunday Morning Coming Down

by naturesinmyeye



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, F/M, Gift Fic, sandor and sansa - Freeform, sansan, touch of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:10:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5132150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naturesinmyeye/pseuds/naturesinmyeye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Original prompt from Jillypups was for a fic that involved Sandor somehow ending up in Sansa's bathrobe. Preferably short and ridiculous looking. </p><p>And here you have it! </p><p>I suppose this is my first sort of crackfic. Modern day AU. No point to this other than to get the two of them in bed and Sandor in a robe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Morning Coming Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jillypups](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jillypups/gifts).



A banging, startling, boom woke him.  Sandor winced, holding a hand up to block the light of day as he blinked awake. The ceiling came into focus and then the walls as he turned his head. _Pink walls_. He rose with speed, taking in the peaches and cream bed linens.

 

This was not his bed!

 

He was naked!

 

The fuck did he get into last night?

 

The red head!

 

Sansa. The one from the gym that often came in with her brunette, loud mouth sister. The one that had smiled at him, every day, until he had eventually, awkwardly, half smiled back. After that, some days he would spot her if she asked him to. And then he would go home to rub one out in the shower.

 

They had run into each other three times before at Bealish’s watering hole. One of them would casually mention how they were thinking of going there in the evening and then they would both inevitably show up. She was always with her sister who hovered and kept a sharp eye on the two of them.

 

Last night had been the fourth time Sansa had shown up. There was no sister in sight. In her place, Sansa instead was accompanied by a blonde, in a baby doll t-shirt with a dragon on it, and a man much older than the both of them. The older man wasn’t elderly, perhaps a few more years older than Sandor himself. After Sansa had plopped herself down on the barstool beside him, the blonde had given her a kiss on the cheek, winked at him and made her self scarce. The man had followed behind the blonde, obviously watching her ass as she walked away.

 

He’d only meant to drop in for a beer or two. But then Sansa had offered to buy the next round and the novelty of a woman getting _him_ a drink was too good to pass up. One double Jack turned into two for him as she sipped on something that smelled of coconut, complete with frilly umbrella. It looked more like fruit salad out of a tin than alcohol but he shrugged and kept up the conversation with her. She was pretty, more than pretty, and seemed for some damn reason to like his company. There had been a terrible joke made about her being a little bird, belonging on a tropical isle with her drink that reeked of sun tanning oil. She’d laughed. He had wondered what the hell was wrong with her.

 

After her first drink she’d switched to a Shirley Temple and he had ordered one more double. Or maybe it had been two? Shit if he knew now. In any event, somewhere during that last drink she had tilted forward, placing a hand on his upper thigh and informing him that her sister was gone for the weekend. Their shared apartment was all her’s for the night. He hadn’t gone that hard, that fast in years.

 

It was she who had called for a cab. She that had led him through the door to her apartment building. She who had lit a few candles in her bedroom and shyly pulled her top up over her head. He was an idiot for the first few minutes. The whole experience was shocking and strange and wonderful for him. Woman didn’t invite him back to their place for any reason. And they only came to his when there had been a lot more alcohol involved. Not enough to make them senseless -he wasn’t a complete piece of shit- but enough to make him desirable for a time in their eyes.

 

Sansa tasted like sticky maraschino cherries when he kissed her. He wasn’t scared, he told himself. Sandor Clegane wasn’t afraid of anything thank you very the fuck much. No, it was the Jack on an empty stomach that was making him feel clammy and slightly off kilter. He suddenly realized he had to piss like a race horse.

 

Excusing him self, she pointed to a doorway in her room. Inside he found a large bathroom and he sighed deeply while emptying his bladder. After, he splashed cold water on his face, looked at his reflection, snorted and told himself to get it together. He stripped in the bathroom. No sense in putting it off, he thought. Either she’d spread her legs or tell him to fuck off.

 

Opening the bathroom door, he found her sprawled out on her bed, just as bare as he was. He made even more a fool of himself when he almost let his knees buckle and send him to the floor. He managed to fall on the bed instead, while she caught him and giggled. They rolled, fumbled and laughed together. There was skin and the soft scent of citrus everywhere. She sang beautifully; her gentle sighs and gasps were music to him. He mumbled something to that effect, calling her a little bird again. She nibbled his ear and told him she liked the name.

 

He was fairly certain she didn’t get off the first time. There was too much _everything_ that he was too chicken shit to admit to feeling when her walls surrounded him. There wasn’t enough air in all the world for his lungs as he panted over top of her after a blinding climax. He tried to lift himself off of her, shaking on unsteady muscles but she had pulled him back down to her, cooing in his ear, like a dove, that he was alright. She said she was going to keep him safe, whatever the fuck that meant, and he had bit at the inside of his cheek to keep the stinging sensation in his eyes from turning into something more.

 

He made up for his first performance with a second, not satisfied until her heard her scream twice. Then he had allowed himself another go inside her. She was more vocal the second time, rolling her hips underneath him and pulling his hair. It was even better than the first time. And somewhere in the tangled sheets, they had fallen asleep, sweaty and holding one another.

 

Now it was the morning after and he was alone in bed. There was a slight pounding in his head and some goddamn asshole banging on the front door. The noise of a shower running came from Sansa’s bathroom. Steam billowed from the crack at the bottom of the door.

 

“Sandor?” Sansa called from inside the bathroom. “Would you mind getting that? I just started washing my hair.”

 

“Yeah, alright,” he yelled back, looking through the piles of blankets and clothes on the floor for his jeans. Then he remembered; his clothes were all in the bathroom. He tried the knob. Locked. Locked?! What the hell for? How the fuck was he supposed to answer the door with no clothes? He might be short tempered and a bit of an ass but he wasn’t an exhibitionist. The knock came again at the front door.

 

“Sandor?” Sansa asked in mild confusion.

 

“Yes, alright!” he shouted at both her and the person on the stoop that was clearly begging for him to chew them out first thing in the morning. His eyes scanned the room. Bleary eyed, half hung over, and starving, his gaze settled on the hooks on the back of her bedroom door. There were sweaters, jackets and a robe. That would do. God, it was hideous but some where in his mind he wanted to please her; wanted to make her fucking _happy_ of all things and getting the door would put him one foot in the right direction.

 

Shoving his arms into the apricot monstrosity -it had birds on it for Christ’s sake- he almost popped the seams along the shoulders. The belt allowed him to just barely close the robe around his middle. It gave him a mere two inches of coverage below his sack. Well, if he didn’t walk too fast or raise his arms up too high it would work.

 

Grumbling and cursing the entire way down her hallway, he followed the sound of more raps at the door to find his way around her apartment. The front door had a locked chain on the inside. Good. He opened the door a few inches without undoing the chain.

 

“What?” he snapped at the spotty faced young man on the door mat outside.

 

“Package for Sansa Stark,” the boy yelped.

 

“It’s Sunday,” Sandor observed with suspicion. “No fucking mail on Sunday.”

 

“Special delivery,” the boy explained, holding the package up for him to inspect through the crack in the door. The return address was labeled Ned Stark. That was her father wasn’t it?

 

“Fine, leave it on mat,” he ordered.

 

“You have to sign for it,” the young man squeaked.

 

“Son of a bitch!” he cursed, slamming the door shut, only to undo the chain and open the door fully. The youth’s eyes went wide at his attire. “You laugh. You say anything, I’ll send you over the balcony, understood?” he growled.  The boy, wisely, shut his mouth and nodded his head.  Once he had signed for the package, Sandor grabbed the box wrapped in brown packing paper and slammed the door once more.

And then jumped back about five feet with a shout of alarm. _Jesus fucking Christ!_ Behind the door was a person!

 

It was the Little Bird’s sister, dressed in running shorts and a neon green tank top. Fuck him! She’d given him a scare. She was lucky he was holding something others wise he might have taken a swing at her. She waggled her eyebrows at him. “Hey! Nice legs, big man!”

 

“Arya!” Sansa called from behind him. He turned to see her wrapped in a pale blue towel, her hair wet and dripping onto the floor. “I thought you weren’t going to be back until tomorrow!”

 

“I got home early this morning. I thought you were sleeping so I didn’t bother knocking but now I see you were up to something else. Good for you, sis.” Arya grinned at the both of them. Then she glanced down at his crotch and giggled.

 

“I can see your balls,” she laughed, bold as brass. What in the fuck? He’d been covered when he left Sansa’s room, he was sure of it. Oh, but the shift in his arms from holding the signed for package left an entirely different package slightly exposed.

 

“Fucking . . . fuck!” he exclaimed not able to fill in the gaps. His face was burning. He didn’t normally embarrass so easily but the younger Stark sister was leering. He could practically hear her jaws snapping at him! “Here,” he growled, shoving the wrapped box into Sansa’s hands. She nearly dropped the towel trying to keep it from falling to the tiled floor. If her sister hadn’t been there he would have taken an interest in the developing battle between the package and the towel that was so close to slipping and revealing her tits. As it was though, he’d had enough of being gawked at and stormed off to Sansa’s room.

 

“Aw sweet cheeks, where ya’ goin’?” Arya called after him. “I was gonna make you pancakes and sausage! Big, juicy, long, saus-”

 

“Piss off!” he shouted over his shoulder. He shut the bedroom door behind him with force.

 

Sandor could hear the voices of the two sisters, muffled through the door as he stalked over to the bed. His clothes were laid out neatly; Sansa must have realized he’d left them in the bathroom and set them out for him. He grabbed his boxers first and had just pulled them on when Sansa opened the door. She shut it hastily and he also caught the sound of the front door opening and shutting.

 

Sansa giggled, walking towards him and handing him a cup of coffee she’d brought with her. “What?” he barked, taking her offering. Then realized he was still wearing her robe though it was now open. Boxers and a god damned woman’s robe were his wardrobe.

 

“I’m sorry,” she laughed, covering her mouth and settling her self.  “I didn’t know she’d be here, I swear, and Arya is  . . . well, Arya,” she finished knowing that her sister’s name was explanation enough for her behavior. Sansa’s hand trailed down to the waistband of his boxers.

 

“She went for a run,” Sansa informed him, letting her grip on the towel ease just the slightest. “She won’t be back for an hour . . .”  The invitation was clear and despite his earlier anger he wasn’t about to let another opportunity to fuck her pass by him. God only knew why she’d chosen him but it didn’t matter. The fire goddess wanted him and he was happy to see to her needs. The nearly drained mug of coffee thumped onto her dresser as he bent to taste mint on her morning lips.

 

Sansa pulled back for a quick moment, looking up at him with serious eyes. “But after . . . could we, maybe go to breakfast? Out? A date?” she asked hesitantly, letting her fingers run through the hair on his chest. “This is good,” she said letting her eyes glance over at her bed, “ _really_ good, but I think there’s more to it, to us?”

 

He yanked the towel out of her grip, letting it fall to the floor, while he lifted her up into his arms. The seams in her robe didn’t make it through the action while she shrieked in mock protest. Dropping her on the bed, he tore the ruined piece of clothing off and stretched himself out over top of her.

 

“You first, Little Bird. Then breakfast,” he agreed.

 

 

 


End file.
